Winter's Lord: Rise of the North
by DeathBladeVI
Summary: Jon Snow has accepted Stannis's offer. The new Lord of Winterfell must now deal with a wayward bride, deal with the ironborn, deal with Roose Bolton and his bastard son. His army would fight to the death. In the south, a renewed assault from a Targaryen thought dead would bring new life to the war. And the Lord Captain of the Iron Fleet plots the destruction of his brother. AU.
1. A New Stark

The black cloaks of the Night's Watch shuffled darkly as they filed out of the tower. Soon the deep grinding of boots was heard, and the plate and mail of the southron knights were heard, headed by Ser Justin Massey. A dozen men, clad in black cloaks and armed with spears and swords stood guard outside the tower, and the war council of King Stannis came to an end.

Three people were still in the solar of the King. Jon Snow, King Stannis, and the fiery red witch Melisandre remained. Jon Snow, with his black cloak shuffled nervously around the red witch, who smiled and waved. Jon Snow hated the Red Witch, but had to tolerate the bitch for his own safety. Suddenly King Stannis unsheathed Lightbringer and raised it. Jon Snow's hand immediately went to Longclaw slung on his back, but before he could say anything, King Stannis spoke, his usual deep and commanding voice evident with conviction.

"You will kneel, and rise up as Jon Stark, Lord of Winterfell, and Warden of the North." The grim looking man said, and the stunned black haired youth looked up, his mouth agape.

Jon Snow, the Lord Commander of the Night's Watch was stunned once again. King Stannis, the King at the Wall, was offering one more chance at him becoming the Lord of Winterfell and the Warden of the North. His stunned face soon locked up with the unsmiling gaze of the King.

"Your Grace, the Night's Watch doesn't take sides..." And he was soon interrupted by Stannis, who had an angry look on his face.

"How can you refuse your father's seat! He was the most honorable man there ever was! He was the one who saved my life, he was the one who made me promise to protect his son! You are the reason why I came up North! You are the one who win me the Throne, which belongs to me, that is no lie, but the main reason was to protect you! You the son of Ashara Dayne and Eddard Stark! You are the heir to Winterfell, and you dare say to me that the Night's Watch doesn't take sides. If they did, then you would not have given me the Night Fort, you would not have given me food and arms. You would not have given me anything but a thanks!" The King shouted, and his tirade was extremely out of character for the King, who was usually serious and calm.

"My mother was Ashara Dayne?" Jon Snow looked up, and the fiery gaze of Lightbringer was shining right at him. The colors reflected off the ceiling, bringing brilliant colors of red, green, and blue. It shimmered, and then dimmed, before the light glowed once more. It was literally fire, and Jon Snow let the colors engulf him.

"One last chance Snow. Will you rise a Stark, or will you stay a Snow." The King's steely gaze was all that Jon Snow needed. Jon Snow was tired. Tired of the fighting, tired of thinking of Ygritte, and how right she was that he did not anything. The Wildlings were getting impatient, wanting to go out and fight. He knew that the Wildlings would not be welcome in the North, but he knew that they would be vital to the fight. He then realized with a start that he did not care. He wanted to fight the bastard Ramsay, for all that he did against his family, for he knew the truth. He knew that Theon would never have burned Winterfell to the ground. He knelt to the ground, his sword drawn and on pointed down to the hard stone ground. And deep down, he knew that Rickon and Bran would never be the Lord of Winterfell. Bran was a cripple, and dead, while Rickon was a toddler, and dead.

"Your Grace. I am your man. I swear my fealty to you, and I swear it by the Old Gods." And a deep chuckle was emitted from Melisandre, and her red gem on her throat glowed brightly.

"Jon Stark, you must receive The Lord of Light as your God. All others are false." And Jon Snow, the Bastard of Winterfell, rose with anger. His sword was at her throat in less than a second, and the red eyed Direwolf was at his side, growling protectively of Jon.

"I keep the Old Gods. I swore my oath by a heart tree. It was these gods that drove back the Others. And I will swear it by no other Gods or God. The Old Gods are my Gods, and if you ever try to change, my blade will pierce your heart, and the Others will have a new soul to claim." Jon Snow threatened, his sword drawing a thin line of blood. Stannis looked from afar, and for the first time ever, Melisandre panicked. She was not used to being challenged, and the ones that did fed her flames for they had a thirst that could not be quenched.

"Jon Snow. I absolve you from your oath as a Brother of the Night's Watch. You are now Jon Stark, the Lord of Winterfell, the Warden of the North, and the Protector of the Old Gods." King Stannis then accepted Jon Stark's oath of fealty.

"So Jon Stark, now that we have that over with, we have a war to win. In the south, Arnold Karstark and his strength are marshaling, while Mors Umber writes that he would take me has his king if I delivered him Mance Rayder's skull. Why should I when I am the rightful King? I will do something that not even Robert would do. We are marching to the Dreadfort." And Jon Stark looked at him stunned for the second time that day.

"Your Grace, if I say, that is unwise. In order to reach the Dreadfort, you must pass through Umber lands. Mors will cut you to pieces before you even reach the Dreadfort. You have to gain his support first." Jon Stark started.

"Very well. Lets say I did that." King Stannis replied, his now steely gaze resting on Jon.

"Then you have to out march long line of signal fires. The Dreadfort has massive walls and towers, and the old Kings of the North heads were mounted on the walls of the Dreadfort. It will be well provisioned."

"Karstark has written that it is manned by fifty men, half of them servants."

"Your Grace, this is idiotic. Ramsay Bolton will march right back after they deal with the Ironmen at Moat Cailin. You will be caught before the walls of the Dreadfort and be cut to pieces."

"What would you have me do then, old Lord of Winterfell?" Coming from Stannis, Jon had no idea if it was a jape or a serious question.

"The Wildlings first of all, cannot be used in battle. They are hated by the people of the north, and they will refuse to accept you as King."

"Where am I supposed to get men? Three hundred Wildlings for what?"

"Give me command of the Wildlings, and I will show you where you can get thousands." Jon Stark's mouth went into a thin smile.

"You haggle like a crow wife with a fish. Of course I will trade thousands for hundreds." Stannis was beginning to smile, which was out of character for the man.

"Here." Sweeping his hand over the mountains to the north of Winterfell and near the Gift.

"There are no castles, no villages."

"These are the mountain clans. They are proud but poor people. When they are not fighting each other, they are fishing in the Bay of Ice, and telling their youn ones that the ironmen will get them. Their champions and chieftains fight with huge two handed greatswords, while their common folk fight with slings and staffs made of mountain ash." Jon Stark then rose from the map.

"How will they swear fealty to me?"

"Ask them."

"Why should I beg for what is rightfully mine?"

"If you command them they will refuse you. They have not had a king visit them since last King bent the knee to Aegon. Praise them and they will fight. Command them, and they will refuse them."

"And what will you do?"

"I will march across the land, and head straight for Deepwood Motte. I know the land, and I suspect many of the Wildlings know it as well. If Roose Bolton means to fight the Ironborn, so must you."

"Aye. Once you capture Deepwood, meet my host on the Kingroad. We march for Winterfell. Roose Bolton will be heading there for something, according to Arnold Karstark. This war council is at an end." Stannis then left the room, where just the Red Witch and Jon Stark were left.

"So you will take the wildling princess as your wife?" Melisandre said, coolly, the opposite of her usual fiery demeanor.

"Once I steal her, then yes. The wildlings will swear their fealty to me. I threw back Mance Rayder, and he was defeated. The remnants of the Free Folk host is encamped to the north, and I will soon have three hundred men under my command. We will march across the Bay of Ice, and the Magnar of Thenn will be my right hand man."Jon Stark soon thought of Val. Her beautiful blonde hair, her commanding voice. If he managed to steal her, then the Wildlings would be even more behind him. Mors Umber though, might take it to offense that he was in command of the Wildlings. That was Stannis's problem, not his.

"My lord." The brother at the door, the former brother to Jon approached Jon.

"Iron Emmett. You and the brothers have to choose a new Lord Commander." Iron Emmett recoiled in surprise.

"Why?"

"I am Jon Stark, the Lord of Winterfell."

"What?"

"I could not choose between my family and my duty. My duty is to the realm, tis true, but when the Ramsay Snow is ravaging my the North, my only family dead because of them, I will not let this fly. I will be doing a duty to the realm when I defeat Ramsay."

"When are you leaving?"

"Tomorrow. Me and the wildlings are heading towards Deepwood Motte, and you have the Wall until you brothers can vote for a new Lord Commander. Keep your spirits up, Janos Slynt is dead. The wildlings have enough food for an entire years worth of an campaign, and I will be stealing Val tonight."

"Good Luck, Lord Snow, I mean Stark." Iron Emmett then left the room to spread the news. The wildlings at Mole Town were armed with their own weapons, and the three hundred men would be placed under Lord Stark's command.

Jon Stark then left the tower, heading to the training yard. There their was the Ser Godry the Giant Slayer, and he was boasting on about how he had slayed a giant. The Wall was cold as ice, and the night sky twilight twinkled with the orange glow of the stars.

"Ser Godry. You challenged me to a match yesterday. You called me craven. I'll show how a craven fights." Jon Stark as the new head of House Stark, could not let insults go like that.

"Finally! Boy! Bring me my sword!" And his squire ran towards the crowd of knights. Grabbing a scabbard, he gave it to the knight who wretched it from the boy's grip.

"Lets see how good you are boy! I slayed a giant!" He boasted once again, and the black brothers groaned in annoyance as it was the about the twelfth time he had said that.

"I won't be running." And he drew Longclaw. The sword felt light and balanced, and the two circled around each other. Godry struck first, his sword sweeping an arc of death. Jon parried it, almost too easy, and he slashed forward, the Valyrian steel slamming right into the castle forged steel of the longsword carried by Godry. Shattering the blade in one hit, his sword was at the throat of Godry. The hushed tones of the brothers were everywhere, while Stannis looked from his tower. Nodding, he vanished back, while Jon sheathed Longclaw, before offering his hand to Godry. Godry, clad in mail and plate, accepted it, and the two headed towards the blacksmith, when one of the wrong way rangers was seen. It was Justin Massey, the cautious man that was hated by Godry.

"Lord Snow." Massey was breathless.

"It is Lord Stark, not Lord Snow."

"My apologies. There is a lady waiting for you in your solar."

"Who?" Jon Stark was surprised for the third time that night.

"Her name is Alys Karstark. And she wants a word with you."

**So this sucks. I hate this chapter. But I am going to be skipping some points, so beware! Some parts are actually part of the story, some others are actually part of the AU. So next chapter will be today!**


	2. Ghosts of Winterfell

**Thanks for all the reviews and favorites. I liked it when I wrote about Melisandre being called out by Jon Stark, and it advances quickly. You all remember Lord Manderly and his request that Davos get Rickon, before he bent the knee to Stannis? Well lets just say thats going to be a bit different...*Evil Chuckle* Also, some things are ahead, some are behind. This is ahead of the other P.O.V.S but there will be chapters explaining the other characters and how they got to this positition. All chapters after this a mixture of flashbacks and regular P. .**

Cold. The _cold. _It bit into him, into his flesh, the darkening skies draining him of all his strength. _Reek, it rhymes with weak. _The total fear he felt whenever he saw the shadows. _They all make fun of me. My name is Reek, it rhymes with meek. _He couldn't anything. The shadow of the Bastard was always there. When he heard himself think that he mentally flayed himself. _He is not the Bastard, his name is Ramsay, Ramsay Bolton. _No matter what, the looming presence of the man was there, and his fear would never waver.

_My name is Reek, it rhymes with squeak. _As he trudged along the walls of ruined Winterfell, he had to look over his shoulder. Ramsay would be there, he was _everywhere. _No matter what, _he was Reek._ _No, my name is Theon! _A rebellious part of him was still burning alive, but he beat it down, for Ramsay would hear about it. _My name is Reek, it rhymes with stink. _That would never change. He was there. _At least he will be merciful. He said that if I listen, he will not have to flay me...and I am Reek, his **Reek.**_

He saw the dark, overcast sky, pouring down with all of its might. The flayed man of Bolton was there, flapping in the wind, while Reek could see the merman of White Harbor dancing in the wind as well. It whipped through him like a tempest, and for a second he feared the wind more than Ramsay. _No I must fear Ramsay. I am his Reek! he will flay off another piece of skin. _

"Reek." And the dark voice that he feared at night was right there besides him. Wanting to show his fear, he turned towards Ramsay, his fear so evident that a crying babe could see. The Lord of Winterfell, the trueborn lord of Winterfell, was so terrifying, such a terror, that he always struggled for words. No matter what, he was always going to be afraid of Ramsay.

"Yes my lord?" He asked, his voice a huge squeak.

"How are you?" And the words that came out of his mouth were so foreign, so strange, that he almost did say anything out of shock. But remembering what he did when Ramsay did not get an answer. Fumbling for words, he finally answered.

"I am fine my lord." And he remembered. He had to know his _name. _And his name was Reek, the servant of the Lord of Winterfell. _My name is Theon! _His rebellious side was growing stronger, with the prospect of Stannis marching on them and freeing him, but knowing Ramsay, he beat it down merciless, hoping that he could avoid being further injured.

"Would you like to be Theon again? We will put in a cloak and fine clothes, and you could be a prince again." Ramsay's words were so tempting, but he was terrified. Was it a test?

"No my lord, I am Reek. _your Reek. _My name is Reek, it rhymes with meek." He again squeaked. No matter what, he would never be Theon again. He was always Reek, and will be forever the servant of Ramsay Bolton, the trueborn son of The Leech Lord.

A single horn was sounded, and the gates were grinding open, and in came a Frey, one of the damn Freys. Just because he was Reek, did not mean he had to bow down to the Freys. _Damn them! _His rebellious side again flared up, but he beat down within a second. It was rumored that the last son of Eddard Stark, Jon Snow, had become Jon Stark, and he was marching with an army of wildlings. Of course, that was not true. Reek and Theon both agreed that Jon Snow would never do that.

_I killed the miller's sons. _His rebellious side once again. _No, Theon killed them. You are Reek, it rhymes with beak. _And he was alone. The Starks always said that Winter is Coming, and in the North, it was always the worst. _Ramsay will kill Jon Stark, just like he killed Ser Rodrick Cassel. _Ramsay was to feared. He was Ramsay Bolton, the trueborn, _the trueborn Lord of_ Winterfell.

Shifting towards the crypts, the guards were running around, shouting orders. The wedding had taken place the night before, with all the feasting, all the joy. _It wasn't for Arya Stark. But she isn't Arya Stark. She is Jeyne Poole, the son of the steward. Arya had grey eyes, Jeyne has brown. _And both Reek and Theon agreed with that.

"What is happening?" Asked a passing guard serjeant. His surcoat showed the giant of Umber, and his mail was rusty, with streaks of dirt and grime. Another guard, showing the flayed man of Bolton, answered.

"Someone died. For Gods sake, someone had their cock chopped off, and stuffed in their mouth." And Reek knew who it was. Yellow Dick. Whoever was doing it was cutting off Ramsay's support base, however small it was.

"What in the Old Gods is going on?" Asked a screaming Ramsay as he descended down from the battlements. The crypts were eyrie as the wind whistled. The ruined Winter Town was full of horses and men, as the Lord of the Dreadfort was there for the marriage of Arya Stark.

"Yellow Dick, m'lord. He's dead." The guard serjeant said nervously. Ramsay stood silent for a second, most likely thinking about what to do.

"How did he die?" Ramsay said calmly. Reek knew, and so did Theon, that Ramsay when he was calm, was the eviliest part of him at work.

"Someone stabbed him in the heart, and then stuffed his member into his mouth. It smells as well. Died last night I reckon Lord Bolton." The captain said, his surcoat showing the flayed man. As Ramsay was going to reply, a horn was heard, and that signaled that all the lords and captains were to meet at the Great Hall for the war council and dinner.

"Toss his body over the walls, and then go back on duty. Reek, come with me." Ramsay commanded. The guards kneeled in obediance, before running off to carry out their orders. Reek on the other hand, meekly followed Ramsay, as the Bolton, Umber, and Cerywn men began their patrols around the ruins of Winterfell.

The path to the Great Hall was not long, and before long, they reached it. Reek was very afraid, for he had no idea what Ramsay was going to do. Since the victory over the Ironborn, and the scout reports that Stannis was marching towards Winterfell with a host four thousand strong, things were becoming very hectic.

Lord Roose Bolton, the Lord of the Dreadfort, and the Warden of the North was waiting, along with several bannermen. The banners of the Ryswells, Dustins, Cerywns, Freys, Umbers, and Hornwood were placed under the sigil of the Boltons, while the Stag and Lion of Tommen, the First of his Name, was the tallest and proudest of all of them.

The Lords and Ladies were arranged in circular table, the most important Lords next to Roose Bolton, such as Lord Ryswell, while lesser Lords and captains seated were seated farther away. Lord Manderly had not sent any men, and had received his heir back, Ser Wylis Manderly. Bolton wasn't worried, but Reek knew, _Reek knew, _that Lord Manderly would not hesitate to declare for Stannis. Only that Stannis was not winning. That was the only reason. Roose Bolton began with a toast. After that was all and through, he went down to business.

"My Lords, Ladies, and Captains. Stannis approaches with a host over four thousand strong. He has the loyalty of half of House Umber, and more are joining him. The mountain clans have declared for him, and our associate, Arnolf Karstark, has been discovered and his men having defected to his side. Lady Alys Karstark has declared Karhold for Stannis. And on top of that, the Bastard on the Wall, Lord Snow, has become Lord Jon Stark, the Lord of Winterfell." Roose Bolton finished. The collected gasps suggested that the bannermen would declare for Stark, but with their forces outnumbered by Bolton's men, and the cruelty of Ramsay, meant that they were to stay in line.

"We are marching to meet Stannis. Once we defeat him, we will turn our attention to the Stark bastard, and then we return home. My Lord son here will remain with a small garrison and some small folk in order to rebuild Winterfell, and rule it with Lady Arya." Roose Bolton then swept his hand to the side. The map of the North shows that

"What about Lord Manderly?" Asked Ser Aenys, the leader of the Frey forces in Winterfell. Reek was weak, but Ser Aenys was smart and calculating. His men amounted to a third of the six thousand men in Winterfell.

"He will not have to come to Winterfell. He already killed Ser Davos, and he has proven his loyalty. He will be let to live in peace." Reek knew that Lord Manderly was tired of war. Reek, though he was meek, had not lost the grasp of the situtation in the North. Lord Manderly was fat, weak, even as weak as Reek. _My name is Reek, it rhymes with leek. _

"Of course My Lord. Once Jon Stark is defeated, Ramsay's rule of Winterfell will be secure. I hope that after this battle, me and my men will be allowed to return to the Twins. I haven't seen my family for months." A different Frey said. It was Hosteen Frey, the second in command, and mutters of agreement and nodding sprang up like a spring. Reek was certain that they were tired of war, for they had fought under the Young Wolf, Roose Bolton, Glovers, and they had all risen and fallen, except for Bolton, and they were tired.

"Yes. Now, everyone, away, but for you Ramsay, Reek, Lady Dustin and you Whoresbane." Whoresbane was a massive man, but he was afraid, Reek knew. His eyes showed it, and his frost beard wrinkled with anxiety.

"Yes Lord Bolton?" Asked the afraid Whoresbane.

"Will your men fight the Crowsfood men?" And Whoresbane thought for a moment, before shaking his head no.

"No My Lord. Crowsfood men are the sons and grandsons of most of my men. They will not be cursed as kinslayers."

"Thank you, that is all." And Whoresbane fled the Great Hall, slipping with some of his men.

"Now, you Reek. As you know, there as a killing. Yellow Dick was killed. Now, we have been kind and hospitable to you for your stay in Winterfell. Did you kill him?" And Reek's heart shot up. He was too weak, of course he didn't! He could barely hold up a fork, yet a knife.

"No, m'lord. I just want to be a good Reek for Ramsay." And the cold ice eyes of Roose Bolton penetrated his weak mind, tearing him apart from the inside.

"How can we know?" And Reek broke down again.

"I just want to be a good Reek. Of course I would never betray Ramsay or you! All I want to be is a good Reek for Ramsay." Reek was shivering with sweat and fear. The dread of being flayed, his teeth being smashed to splinters, his cock being skinned again, the cold, _the cold, _the pain, it was unbearable. He never wanted to return.

"Do you see his fingers? Or his hands. He is too weak to hold a spoon, never mind a knife or sword." Interjected Lady Dustin. She was approaching Lord Roose Bolton.

"Of course, of course. You are free to go Reek." And Reek started his way towards the oak doors to the frozen bitch called Winterfell. But then a burst in the door, and outcame a Bolton man, sweating and swearing up a storm.

"What is it?" Asked an icy Roose.

"M'lord, we recieved a message from White Harbor. The fiery heart of Stannis has been raised over the walls, along with the direwolf of Stark. Lord Manderly has bent the knee to Stannis and Stark, and we have recieved word from the Iron Throne that the Royal fleet has been sent to blockcade the harbor." And Reek, despite himself, smiled. His broken and splintered teeth made a horrible grin, but his spirit, if just momementarily, was back.

_My name is Theon. You have to know your name. _

Shrugging, he adjusted the clasp to his cloak and headed back to his friends, the dogs, for a good meal and fighting.


	3. Lady Alys, and the Encounter

**Thanks for all the reviews. Next chapter. **

The Karstark girl was in his solar, shivering slightly. She was a maiden flowered, around the same age as Jon. The Magnar, Sigorn, followed him, flanked by three of his bronze clad men. The Thenns were good men, and brave, and they knew how to follow orders. Sigorn was already balding, but the man was around the age of seventeen and ten, only a year older than Jon.

Jon Stark, feeling slightly cold as the winds of winter passed through, shivered as he opened the door to his solar. Alys Karstark, the Lady of Karhold, was there, wrapped in a cloak and furs, her breath cold. A roaring fire was being tended by a Free Folk, one of the warriors. His name was Leathers, one of the ones that had been captured. He said that his brother was Jax, a wildling warrior on the other side of the Wall. He had bend the knee to Jon Stark, and was made the master of arms at Winterfell, when they captured it of course.

"Lord Stark." The Karstark girl greeted. She was beautiful, with her long and wavy brown hair wrapped in a braid. Jon could see from the corner of his eye that the Magnar was shifting uncomfortably, and Jon smiled, his teeth gleaming. Of course the Magnar would be smitten with her. The new Magnar was around the age of seventeen, one of the youngest Magnars in the Free Folk. He was a powerful built man, with a sense of

"Lady Alys." Jon Stark greeted. He was a little uncomfortable being called Lord Stark, but it was something that he had to get used to. **_He _**was the Lord of Winterfell now. It wasn't going to be Rickon or Bran, and Arya and Sansa were missing. He was the Stark in the North now, and he wasn't going to give that up now, for he was the eldest Stark. He stood waiting for the Magnar to sit down, before realizing that he was to sit down first; so he did. Five heartbeats later, Jon Stark bade for the Magnar to take a seat.

"Who is this?" Asked Alys, and Jon Stark turned to reply. Before he could utter a single word, The Magnar stood up, his bronze armor reflecting in the shimmering light of the fire. His bronze sword was drawn, and he then knelt.

"I am the Magnar of Thenn, and I wish to say that you are beautiful." The Magnar's eyes were lusty, but filled with passion and love. He had just met her, but he was already in love. Jon just snorted in amusement as Alys blushed deeply, before they both regained their composure.

"Now that formalities are out of the way, you wish to speak with me?" Asked Jon Stark. As Leathers left the room for some alone time with a certain shadow priestess, Alys approached the Lord Stark.

"Yes. My uncle, Arnolf Karstark, has declared Karhold for Stannis,correct?" And Jon Stark nodded in understanding. "In fact, why would he do that? Especially with my brother Harry down there, a prisoner, at least, I think he is."

Jon Stark was busy thinking. If Lady Alys had fled from Karhold, which he assumed she did, what would Arnolf do? _A pale girl on a pale horse. Daggers in the dark. _Melisandre's ominous words rang with resolution in his mind, and he knew what had happened. Arnolf Karstark had declared for Stannis in the hope that young Harry would be killed. With that, Lady Alys would be the Lady of Karhold, and Arnolf would most likely force a son or a grandson to marry her and get her with child. Once the child was born, then she would be killed. He smiled, for he had all figured out. And Ygritte always said he knew nothing. _You know nothing Jon Snow. __Sometimes Ygritte, _Jon Stark thought, _I do know something. Have some faith. _

"He wants the Iron Throne to execute the heir, and with that it passes on to you. Of course! Once Arnolf got a child in you, through a marriage with one of his sons or grandsons, then you would cast aside!" Jon Stark said with a sense of competent nerves.

"Yes. I have eaten your bread and salt, and drunk your water, I am a guest under your roof. Now we wait for Arnolf to arrive." Alys responded.

"How is the situation in Karhold Lady Alys?" Jon asked. Alys shook her head, and responded grimly.

"My uncle readies about six hundred men, but is prepared to betray Stannis at a moments notice. Food is being harvested at the last moment, and the old people have announced they are going hunting." And Jon knew what she meant. In the winter, the old men always announce going hunting. Come spring, some of them are found; more are never found again.

"Will they follow you?" He asked. It was no use if they wouldn't follow her. She had fled the place, and if they didn't follow her, then that meant Arnolf was going to have a fun time being besieged. Karhold was able to resupplied by the sea, and it was a strong stout castle. Stannis would be cut to pieces with his host, traveling down through the forest that surrounded Karhold.

"Yes. They will. I am the rightful heir to the castle, and the North remembers. Nobody follows a turncloak, but a turncloak." And Jon Stark disagreed. The houses that were in Winterfell only followed Bolton because of their situation. They would be cut to pieces if they rose up on their own. But if they had Stannis as a leader, and marched south once again, the riverlords would most likely rise once again. _The King in the North. They chanted that for Robb Stark, for your brother. Will you take up the crown, and be known as the King in the North? _A voice echoed in his mind. It was sweetening, with a small hint of malice. Jon Stark knew his answer.

_No. I am the Lord of Winterfell, the son of Ashara Dayne and Eddard Stark. My duty is to the realm, and I am the one who will make sure the likes of Bolton and Frey will pay for their crimes. _

"Jon. Lord Stark." The voice brought him back. He realized that he was not paying attention, so he looked at Alys.

"Yes Lady Alys?" He asked, not knowing what she was talking about.

"How will my hold on Karhold be secured? I have no army, and I will soon be either on the march with your host, or stay at Castle Black." She said, and Jon thought. He currently had a small host of three hundred Free Folk and two hundred Thenns. If it was said what was true, then Arnolf would have a host of six hundred marching. Most likely they would follow Alys when given the chance. But that wasn't until they marched down south and Stannis took control of the Karstark forces himself, for they were needed in the south. She needed an army, and now. What was available now? _Thenn. The Magnar. He might be young, but his men are loyal. Augmented with some of my own host, I can march down to Deepwood Motte with a small host of around two hundred and fifty, take the ironborn by surprise, and then meet with Stannis near Winterfell. _

_"_A marriage. Between you and the Magnar." And both of them froze up. The Magnar was a good man, and he understood what it meant to obey orders. His father had bent the knee to Mance Ryder, and he had bent the knee to Jon Stark, who had proved himself once, when he had thrown back a host the size of twenty thousand Free Folk, all of the hardened raiders and warriors, while the garrison at Castle Black was composed of green boys and old men. Both of them reddened, augmented by the fire roaring in the fireplace.

"Why?" Asked Alys. She choked the words out. It was evident that she was infatuated with the Magnar, but it was unheard of for a highborn maid to marry a wildling.

"Because he has an army that will ensure that Karhold is secure from the Iron Throne. They are the most disciplined fighters north of the Wall, and they will follow you and him without hesitation. Plus, you seem to like our Sigorn here." And both of blushed deeply.

"Of course. Lord Stark, what is Stannis's plan to take the North?" Karstark was curious, Jon could tell. His sworn sword, a Thenn named Ris, was their beside him. He was the only one to swear his sword to Jon, while the others just bent the knee. Ris was a savage fighter, it was said that he had slain over twenty rangers in single combat, and he was a fierce and loyal man.

"He will march to Winterfell. I will capture Deepwood Motte and meet his host to besiege it. After we defeat the Boltons and secure the support of the North, we will march to the Dreadfort, and burn it to the ground. That is all I know." Stannis and him had agreed on this, and the Dreadfort was going to be burnt, no matter what. _Burn to the icy snowy ground. _His hands clenched white at the thought of the flayed man. _They were loyal, and now they turned their cloak from white to iron. Winter is Coming Lord Bolton, and it comes for you..._

"May I suggest something?" She asked. Jon was curious, because he didn't know of a highborn lady suggesting warfare, but he heard it anyway. Always be open minded, his father said, and his sister would kill him if she found out he was being narrowed minded.

_I'm coming Arya. Once we march down, I will rescue you, and let you run free, to do what you please. Lady Catelyn would be turning in her grave if she knew what was happening now..._

"Of course Alys."

"Is White Harbor going to support you?" She asked.

"Stannis sent Lord Davos to treat with Lord Manderly, but we don't know. Last time we heard from them, he had been executed. So we must assume that we will be facing White Harbor in the field. We must be prepared to defeat them." Jon answered. Stannis had received the raven the day before, and had been silently grieving. Davos was the closest Stannis had ever gotten to a brother, with Renly and Robert being distant and not caring about him. He was a King's Man, one of the few who kept to the Seven. Jon kept the Old Gods, but he respected the man.

"What if he did it because his son was a prisoner of the Iron Throne? A wandering bard was at Karhold just a forthnight ago, and he said that Wylis, his son and heir, had been released. Now that his heir has been released, he can support Stannis?" Asked Alys. Jon thought about it. It was true, that Lord Manderly would do that, but it wasn't likely. _It doesn't matter right now, _he thought, _we will find out later after Winterfell. _

As he was about to respond, a Thenn, with his bronze armor, and bronze sword, burst into the room, heavily panted. Both of the Thenns, Jon Stark, and Alys jumped up, their swords drawn. Once Jon realized it was a Thenn, he bade for everyone to sheath their weapons.

"What is it Tall Trees?" Tall Trees was a big and tall Thenn, and the Captain of the Guards. Jon Stark had appointed him that, for he was another fierce fighter. He was one of the best swords, even better than his sworn shield, and he was one of the few Thenns heading down south with him to Winterfell.

"Lord Stark. A big bald man with a small group was seen riding towards Mole Town. What would you want us to do?" Asked Tall Trees. Jon Stark didn't know who was this big, bald man was, but he had a good idea. Most likely a Karstark going to Castle Black to get Alys back. He had to meet him before he got to Castle Black and become a guest or force parley.

"Let us ride. Sigorn, why don't you entertain Lady Alys until I get back?" And with that he left the solar, to a blushing maid and a redden Magnar. Sprinting through the tower, he smashed through the door, and headed down to the stables. Climbing onto his pale mare, he was followed by a dozen Thenns, riding their own sure footed garrons, and started their way to Mole's Town. Their hooves clashed against the ice stone road, the clip clop of horseshoes, and the hoots and catcalls of Thenns as they passed by some Free Folk on patrol. Their fur cloaks flapped in the wind, and the spearwives of the patrol raised their spears threatening the Thenns, and smirked when the Thenns recoiled in surprise.

Galloping down the Kingsroad, Jon and his men spurred their horses, and the dozen Thenns were nervous. Jon knew they were used to fighting Rangers, with their black cloaks and steel, but actual southerners, or northerners, were going to meet them. Five of the Thenns had their own bows, made of yew, and they could send a shaft around seven hundred feet, at the maximum range.

As they approached Mole Town, the snows were pelting the underground town. Several Free Folk were milling around, while others were waiting for the orders to march south. They wanted to taste ironborn blood. Some of the Free Folk Raiders had actually met the Ironborn, and they didn't fear them. Their cultures were similar, but Free Folk didn't kneel. They only bent the knee to people who earned their respect. And Jon Stark had earned it, for he had held back a host much larger than his own. He was their King, as far as they were concerned. He had bested the Magnar in single combat, beaten anyone who had tried to face him, and he had earned their respect.

"Lord Stark. Right there." Tall Trees pointed to a group of men, wearing the sigil of House Karstark, a white sunburst on a black field, was seen. Five men at arms, riding hard, along with two crossbowmen, and a pack of dogs. A big bald man, wearing furs and mail was leading them, at least fifty years of age.

Galloping further, they met at the entrance to Mole's Town.

"Hello, and welcome to the Gift. What do you Karhold men want?" Asked Jon.

"I want Alys Karstark." And a crossbowman loosened a quarrel at Tall Trees. Tall Trees deflected it off his wicker shield, by smashing it down to the ground, and three Thenns loosened arrows at the crossbowman. He went down twitching, and as soon as the arrows were released, a dozen Free Folk had surrounded the Karhold men.

"She's a guest of mine." Jon answered. The bald man growled, but a spearwife smashed her spear butt against his head, making him silent.

"What do you want us to do with him Lord Crow?" No matter what happened, he would always be Lord Crow to the Free Folk. The Thenns weren't Free Folk, for they knelt.

"Bring him back to the Wall. And then we put the fool into an ice cell. And then after that, we march for Deepwood Motte!" And the cheers were all he needed to know.

**_Not my best chapter. But next chapter will be in the P.O.V of someone that is very near and dear to my heart. _**


	4. The Prince Reborn

**_Thanks for all the reviews. Here is Aegon's. One note. He is the actual Aegon the Sixth. In this story at least. _**

**The Prince Reborn P.O.V**

Prince Aegon had never been a patient man, and when Harry Strickland had told him that he wanted to gather strength and wait it out a bit, he was less than pleased. The ships of the fleet continued on, and any ships they ran across were either sunk or captured. The golden-heart bows of the Summer Islanders brought down dozens of birds, striking down them down before any word could reach Cersei Lannister.

Aegon paced the deck of the ship. He was angry, but he made an effort to not show it. His lessons flooded back into him. It was his _duty _to rule, not his right. He had spent his time with the fishermen, the whores, the dock workers. He was a good man, but he was impatient. Grasping his sword, he drew it and tried a few cuts, before sheathing it into his scabbard. The standard of House Connington was hoisted above. Men in their armor were running, shouting since Westeros had been sighted.

_Westeros. _The thought of returning home for Aegon was almost to much. He had been living on a boat for the last sixteen years of his life, being trained in arms, learning how to rule. He had done things that Kings and Lords would scoff at. He had learned how the common folk had lived. His silver hair was starting to lose its bluish color, now looking more like the long lost prince he was. He was tired, but was glad. Finally, he was going to reclaim the throne. A Golden Company knight, Ser Brendel Byrne, approached him, kneeling as it was custom.

"Your Grace. We are landing shortly. Lord Connington wanted you to stay back at camp, until we captured Griffin's Roost, and then bring you there." And Aegon nodded. Though he was an impatient man, he had learned the wisdom of trusting in the word of Connington. Then the words of Tyrion echoed in his mind.

_Trust no one, my prince. _Aegon took this advice, and twisted it a little bit. He trusted Jon Connington with his life, after all, he had practically raised him, and was older and wiser. Aegon, by no means was perfect, but he was a dutiful man. But he was the blood of the dragon, and this dragon was stirring, and his blood was starting to boil. His first Kingsguard knight, his instructor, was Rolly Ducksfield, and he was following him as he paced the deck of the ship. The Volantenes were getting nervous, and they wanted land, but Aegon and Connington were aiming for the coast of the Stormlands, then launch an assault on the castles there. Cape Wrath was their destination. The baying of elephants brought him back.

"Yes. I'll stay at the camp. But tell Lord Connington this. The blood of the dragon is slowly waking." And the knight nodded stiffly, before rushing to the cabins, where the Lord of Griffin's Roost was. Aegon had remembered his history lessons, and how Jon Connington had lost the Battle of the Bells, but he again, had grown wiser in his years in exile, becoming more patient, and taking risks when it was necessary. He was cautious, that was true, but he was no Harry Strickland.

"Your Grace. We have a bird. From the Martells." A knight said. That raised his brow. How was a bird able to get on a ship off the coast of the Stormlands?

"Let me see it." He commanded and the knight bowed, before producing a sheath of paper. It was rolled like a scroll,completed with the sigil of House Martell, the sun being penetrated by a spear. The scroll was very well written, most likely by a maester, and Aegon appreciated it. Breaking the seal, he unrolled the paper, and started to read.

_Your Grace,_

_I am Prince Doran, the Prince of Dorne. As you know, Dorne has always supported the Targaryens since the start of Robert's Rebellion. We had hoped that the Mother of Dragons would come west, but it seems like she has been content with the ruins of Slaver's Bay. Knowing this, and knowing that you are alive, we are willing to throw our support behind you._

_You have friends here. The Westerlands are ripe for the taking, while the Iron men plague the Reach. Stannis is in the North, freezing his arse off, as he tries to gain more support for his bid for the Iron Throne. The Vale, though, has not been weakened. Lord Baleish sits on the Eyrie with the Young Lord Robert Arryn, and we are afraid that he means to enter the war on Tommen's side._

_I will be sending my armies to take the Reach, but not until the Ironmen have been dealt with and Lord Redwyne's fleet destroyed. The only way I can see that happening is that if you turn your fleet north, or contact Stannis Baratheon._

Aegon was shocked. Stannis Baratheon, the brother of the man who overthrew his family? Ask for his support? He continued to read, his angry simmering, like a pot of beans.

_I know you feel angry. Stannis Baratheon is the brother of Robert, the man who killed your brother, and overthrew your Grandfather. But here me out. I have agents of the Spider tell me that Old Fat Lord Manderly has a fleet of warships. Dozens. He is currently under siege in White Harbor, but knowing the fat man, he will be ready to destroy them. _

_Also Stannis is unlike Robert. He has a sense of Duty and Justice that few, if any man has. He discovered the secret of the Bitch Queen Cersei, that she has been committing incest with her brother, the Kingslayer. He is the one who weakened the claim of Tommen Lannister, the one who held Storm's End for your brother. Mace Tyrell will not bend the knee. _

_Stannis might. He has a sense of duty to the realm, and if he is named Lord of Storm's End, Master of Ships, he might back your claim and destroy your enemies in the north. He has done nothing but his duty. Varys has even said, There is no creature such as terrifying has a truly just man. Take these words into consideration Your Grace. Though Dorne hates Stannis for who he is and who he is related to, you need Stannis to hold the Stormlands. You need Stannis to hold the North as well. Jon Stark, the bastard son of your father, Rhaegar, and your brother, is the one who you will need to hold the north. Legitimize the lad, name Lord Stannis Lord of Storm's End, and you might have just won the allegiance of the North, Stormlands, and quite possibly even the Riverlands.\_

_And be fair to the man. He has lost more, trying to do his duty to the realm. Otherwise, he would have stayed at Dragonstone and be hold up there forever. _

_Heed my words Your Grace. _

_Prince Doran._

The ship shook and shuddered. Aegon looked over his shoulder, to see the beachhead. All ready dozens of fires were smoking, a great camp being made. The baying of elephants, the laughter of men. The standard of House Connington was raised, and so was the standard of the Golden Company. And above all of those flags, was the three headed dragon of the House Targaryen.

_There must be three dragons. _The words of Lemore echoed silently in his head. Who were they? It was him and his aunt he knew that. He had dreams of a cream colored dragon, sleek and fast, with golden flame roasting game on the plains of some land.

He also thought about the Reach. Mace Tyrell would keep his ties to the Lannisters. Aegon and the Golden Company had all agreed. The Reach would fall. He could have taken Storm's End, ended the war seventeen years ago. But he sat on his arse like a fat bum on the streets of Flea's Bottom.

The cries of the men as the ship docked, and Aegon leaping off. Connington was the first to be there, his hands in black gloves, and an angry scowl on his face.

"Your Grace. The lands of my house have been recaptured. We suffered four casualties. All of them dead. No bird has ever reached King's Landing." And Aegon nodded.

"Our next move will against the Reach. We will have a garrison in the Roost and hold our northern conquests as we take the Reach." Connington looked back, his mouth in a silent o. His brow was twitching.

"Why the Reach? We must move against the Stormlands!" And Aegon had his retort faster than one of the archers could draw.

"Storm's End is the hands of Stannis. Though I want to rip his heart out for who he is, we cannot move against him right now, especially if he has the support of White Harbor and the North against us. If he wins in the North, he will conquer or gain the support of the Riverlands. Dorne already supports us. They are refusing to move until the Iron Born are cast out of the Reach for they will plunder the Dornish armies as well. The power of Dorne and the North we will need if we wish to take King's Landing." And Connington softened. He nodded his okay, before moving to the camp. Aegon breathed a sign of relief, before heading to the camp as well.

Moving there, will the white cloak of Rolly following him, he moved into the tent that was set up for him. It was simple, with a cot, a cooking pot, and a rack for his weapons. Throwing off his cloak, he crashed onto the bed, and ordered Rolly to take a rest before heading off to his duty of protecting him. Two Golden Company spearmen took position outside of his crimson tent, waiting for dawn to break. Aegon looked at the ceiling of his tent, before his mind drifted to the letter.

Stannis. The name echoed in his mind. Stannis Baratheon, the Master of Ships before the war, and the Lord of Dragonstone. He was the dutiful one. He was the one with the sense of justice, the one who had always done what he thought was right. _The key to holding the Stormlands. _He would need to send a bird to the North, and tell Stannis that he would get his wish. He would be the Lord of Storm's End, and the head of House Baratheon. But first, he would have to take the North.

He thought about the shocking news as well. He had a brother? The bastard Jon Snow, now known as Jon Stark, the last Stark in the North and quite possibly the world. He remembered his lessons on the _Shy Maid, _learning about Robert's Rebellion. The Septa didn't sugarcoat it. She told him all about the Mad King, done to the last moments when he was killed by Jaime Lannister, the Kingslayer.

Lemore also told him about his father. How he ran away with Lyanna Stark, throwing the entire realm into chaos. A light rain was coming down, a slight drizzle wetting his dry skin. But all he could think about was his brother.

He had grown up with Rolly, the half maester, the septa. He had grown up with Jon Connington, the fishermen, the dock workers, and truth was, he liked that life. The simple life of the pole boat. Five years ago. That was when he learned that he was really Aegon the Sixth, the rightful king of Westeros, and it was his duty to rule. For the last five years he had been training for the day he would take the Iron Throne, the day he would take his duty at ruling the realm.

Aegon decided. He would legitimize his brother as a Stark, not a Tarygaryen. His aunt Dany, the Mother of Dragons, would hopefully land soon and with that her dragons, but the Stark lad would be his key in taking the North without a bloody fight. His dragonblood was strong, the violet eyes, the silver hair, were a testament to his family's name and strength. Madness and greatness. Both sides of the same coin. The gods would flip the coin and see what it landed on.

Aegon was determined not to make the same mistakes his grandfather and father made. He would not be mad. He would be a great king, ruling out love and hope, not out of fear and hate. But first he had to win against the boy King and his bitch mother.

He would have to win. He would have to carve out the land he wanted to heal, kill it before he could make it better. He would have to destroy the very land he had to save.

And with what?

_Fire and Blood._

**Hello all. Sorry for such the long wait for this chapter. Happy new year as well. I have been super busy, High school, JROTC, all that wonderful stuff. I am going to try and update some of my other stories this week. Most likely the Elder Scrolls and Fallout. **

**Also. To all my fans. I am being forced to write a fanfiction story by my older sister. She is in college and watched Pitch Perfect. She forced me, and her fiance to watch it. It wasn't bad, but she has threatened to hack into my computer and keep in lockdown. Now normally I wouldn't worry , but she is a hacker and she is training to be one with some government organization. So, look out for Pitch Perfect: The Soldier's Return. I am truly sorry.**


	5. Calm before the

**PRAISE JESUS PRAISE JESUS! MY SISTER IS NOT ON MY ASS ANYMORE! Without further notice, here ladies and gentlemen, is the fifth chapter of Winter's Lord:Rise of the North. This will have Victorian Greyjoy for the next two chapters, detailing the Siege of Mereen, and the meeting between Daenarys and him. I love this guy, he is so cool! Also, with the confusion of who Jon Stark's real parents are, that is meant to confuse you. It will all be settled at a latter date, probably near the final confrontation or battle or whatever. Lord Reed will take care of it.**

**The Kraken Warrior P.O.V**

The sun was starting to descend down, the murky waters of the Meereen River splashing into the sea. Ships of all kinds were going back and forth from the harbor, blockading it with an impure intent to destroy the Mother of Dragons. But the three headed dragon kept flying over the city, the Unsullied manning the walls standing still with their bronze helms.

On a campsite located just miles away, Victorian Greyjoy was looking at the city in all of it's glory.

No. That was what he wanted to say to the Crow. No. But when he heard the words, _Trueborn sons, _and the fairest woman in all of the land, he had to go. But for one simple reason.

To disobey his brother, his elder brother, his _king. _The one who had caused so much grief for him. The one that had forced him to kill the only wife he ever truly loved.

_She came to me wet and willing. _The Crow's Eye had hit a cord there. Euron Greyjoy, the King of the Iron Islands. The Iron Fleet was his, yes, the finest ships, the finest warriors, the finest, but Euron had everything else. The men to take on the Iron Islands. The Iron Fleet was loyal to him, that was true, but Euron had thousands of men, hundreds of ships. His situation was almost helpless.

Almost. He had ninety-nine ships. Three squadrons heading towards Mereen. He had was the key word. Now, right on the outskirts of the city, he watched the Unsullied, the finest slave soldiers in the world, man the walls. He and several other Ironborn were looking from their small camp. His fifty-four ships were anchored thirty miles to the south, except for his _Iron Victory. _He looked at the spiraling smoke above the camp, waiting for the battle to start.

The enemy fleet was already blockading the city, over three hundred ships of various kinds. Warships. Merchant ships. None of them were true sailors, none of them had the ability to face the _Ironborn. _They were the Iron Fleet, not some green sailor boys rounded up at the last minute and taught how to sail in an hour. The Iron Fleet had been sailing since birth, training since before they left their mother's teat, before they learned how to walk, crawl, spit, and curse.

Victorian had a plan. 54 ships were not enough to destroy an entire fleet. But, with surprise and the Drowned God on his side, he hoped that the Volantis fleet currently blockading the harbor would be destroyed, and his IronBorn soldiers on land and ready to repel any enemies. They were born on the water, but they could fight well on land as well.

With the banner of Greyjoy hoisted onto the captured hulls the Volantenes called ships, they would goad the Yunakai into attacking, and be slaughtered by the Unsullied waiting for them behind the walls of Meereen. Then Daenerys Targaryen would agree to go with him back to the land that was known as Westeros, attack King's Landing, and gain back the Iron Throne.

And when that was done, other, _actions, _were going to be needed.

That was going to happen, if everything went according to plan.

"Lord Captain, the enemy are breaking up camp. Thousands Lord Captain, at least thirty thousand men. The Unsullied are still manning the walls. What shall we do?" asked another Ironborn. The Kraken looked at the man, who was tall and lean, but he was fierce non the less. He did not know the man's name, but he had been in the Iron Fleet for years now.

"We kill them all. The Dragon Queen will need to meet her new husband back on the Iron Islands. The fairest woman in all the land, for Euron Greyjoy. Oldtown must fall by the time we come back. Otherwise, I will take it myself."

Oldtown was still under siege by the Iron men. The fleet that had decimated the Shield Islands was scattered from the Stepstones to Slaver's Bay, ready to battle it out with the Free Cities and all who dared to oppose the Greyjoys. They were the masters of the sea, no matter what anyone said. They were the real sailors of the seas, the ones that spent their entire lives there.

"Also, we have heard rumors from the ships we captured. Stannis marching on Winterfell and bent on taking it, Asha is dead or taken prisoner, and there has been a new Stark. His name is Jon Stark. Also, there is also news of Aegon Targaryen, a dead man apparently reborn. What is dead cannot die, but rise harder and stronger eh Lord Captain? King's Landing is still a viper's nest, and it seems that Euron has struck Lannisport. I don't know if any of this is true, but again, this all the news we have. And Moat Cailin has fallen to Bolton and his bastard son."

The _North. _At the Kingsmoot, he had made the mistake of trying to hold onto the north. He had promised his men at Moat Cailin that he would return with a thousand men. But the north was a frozen wasteland, not for men like him. He wasn't made of summer, but freezing his arse off in the middle of the North was not his way of living. Now with a Stark on the loose in the North, it was just waiting for Stannis to finish of Roose Bolton and his ilk in Winterfell, then driving towards Moat Cailin. If the North bowed down to Stannis, then the Riverlands would most likely throw of the Lannister yolk and join their Northern brothers. Stannis was a brilliant commander, Victorian admitted, defeating him at the Battle of Fair Isle, decimating the Iron Fleet and allowing for the levies under Robert to lay siege to Pyke. Also, Greyjoy had learned that Daenerys had a husband.

It didn't matter. The young silver haired queen would not be the first woman he had made a widow. He did not who it was, but he didn't care.

"How is the fleet? Are they read for action? Are you ready for action?" asked the Lord Captain of the Iron Fleet.

"The fleet is ready for action. The men are ready. I am ready. Are you ready Lord Captain?" asked the man. Victarion chuckled darkly.

"_We do not sow." _The Lord Captain replied.

"The captains are waiting for orders."

"Send the ravens. The _Iron Victory _and her squadron are to break the blockade, while _Drums of War_ and her squadron land the they land the men, they will join us and ram the enemy fleet from the flank. We are heading back to the _Iron Victory, _and we will have victory. We are Iron Born, we do not fear the green men of the summer. " The Lord Captain boomed. He had always been a loud man, but he was powerful and strong, not to be trifled with. The man that had been speaking with him spoke up again.

"The _Drums of War_ report that the Volantis fleet is heading south for patrol. At least thirty ships. Ravens have been seen going from Mereen to Volantis, and it seems that the Stormborn is looking for a way out of this mess," the Iron Born said, and Lord Captain Victorian looked at him. His eyes narrowed, his powerful hands that drowned his wife clenching.

"Get ready to set sail. We are leaving in five minutes."

"Yes Lord Captain," and the man left, leaving the Kraken Captain to his thoughts. The Dragon Queen, the last Targaryen, the Mother of Dragons, would be Euron's bride. If Victorian were to obey his orders. But he was not going to do that.

The Iron Fleet was loyal to him and him only. Though some Captains might try and resist, he had more than enough men in the fleet that they would support him without question. _The fairest woman in all the land, all for me. Just for me, not for Euron, not for the green boys of summer. The North might be lost to us, but we will rule all of Westeros. We are Iron Islanders._

"Lord Captain, I think you might want to see this," said an Iron Islander, dressed in mail. Handing the spyglass to him, the Iron Islander bowed before scampering off to Gods know where.

_Drowned God guide me. How can this be? _For in front of him where the armies of Yunkai, all arrayed with thousands of slave soldiers. The legions of New Ghis were also arrayed nearby,their banners flapping. The Iron Fleet was hidden in a cove just miles down from where the Volantis fleet was blockading the mouth of the harbor. Teeming with slave soldiers, hundreds of ships, were moving closer. Orders were being yelled, commands being followed. The Iron Fleet was readying itself for battle, ready to decimate the enemies of House Greyjoy. On the _Iron Victory, _the golden kraken on the black field was flapping in the brisk ocean wind. Ironborn were readying themselves for battle, ready to meet their foes.

The enemy was beginning their assault. Tens of thousands of men were starting to yell, clattering and banging shields and whatever weapons they had together. A long line of slave infantry were beginning to march towards the city.

But that was not what caught his attention. A huge dust cloud was being produced by the massive armies of only one Khal strong enough to defy both the Mother of Dragons and the Harpies of Slaver's Bay.

Khal Jhaqo. The man that had defied the Mother of Dragons after the death of her husband, Khal Drogo, and had almost captured the Dragon Queen when she and her bloodriders where inspecting the troops that were gathering near the mouth of the river. The troops there had been slaughtered and the Dragon Queen had unleashed her dragons unto the Khalasar, bathing them in the dragon fire. Hundreds were killed, it was said, and Victorian had been a little frightened by them, but would not admit it.

_I will win this battle. I will bring back the Dragon Queen. But as I do that, I will slit the lying weasel of a man I call brother's throat, and I will be cursed as Kinslayer. But I don't care. I will have trueborn sons, I will have heirs to the throne. I will make sure all of Westeros bow down before House Greyjoy and House Targaryen, I am Ironborn, I am the Lord Captain of the Iron Fleet. I do not care of the consequences._

_Because as the words of House Greyjoy says-_

_We do not Sow._

And with that, Greyjoy swore he heard the roaring of dragons. Dragon fire was beginning to erupt, the clash of steel and arrows beginning to fly was music to his ears.

_Fire and Blood. We do not Sow. The words of death had been unleashed and may the Gods have mercy on the slaves of these soft lords._

_**So it might seem a little confusing. Bottom line, is that the Iron Fleet is about to meet the Volantis fleet and whatever other ships there are, and that Victorian Greyjoy is planning to decimate the houses of the South. Euron Greyjoy is a slick bastard, so I don't know who is going to win. Greyjoy vs Greyjoy after the battle next chapter. Also introducing the Mother of Dragons, her husband to be. It's not who you think it is, it is someone different. I know I mixed up canon and replaced it with fanon, but I had to in order to get this story rolling.**_


	6. A New Plan

Stannis looked at the map. All of the North, from the mountain clans, to Bear Island, to Karhold, to White Harbor, all of it had sworn and bent the knee to Stannis. He was pleased, even if that damned dwarf of man had smashed his fleet and host in the Blackwater. Twelve hundred knights and horsemen that were battle hardened and battle tested marched with him, while two thousand clansmen joined him as well. Flint, Wull, they had warred before, sometimes against each other, followed him and him only. Duty. That has always been his center, the only reason he was alive. The War of Five Kings they called it. The Riverlands bent the knee to Tommen I, a bastard of incest by Jaime Lannister and Cersei. The Vale sitting and waiting. Dorne. Waiting and watching for something. The combined strength of the Reach and the Westerlands stand before him and the Iron Throne. He had all but smashed the wildling host, and now hundreds were marching on his side. Lead by the last Stark alive. Jon Stark, the Lord of Winterfell, Warden of the North, and the Protector of the Old Gods. He needed Stark in order to win over the last remaining bannermen.

His captains and lords were gathering around. Karhold had been taken by the Magnar of Thenn, though Arnolf Karstark did not know it yet. The six hundred foot, the dozen lancers, all of them would join him if they wished to see the next day. Justice for Eddard Stark. Justice for Robb Stark, even if he did try to take half of the Kingdom. Being killed at a wedding wasn't honorable. It was just death. He still felt pangs of guilt for breaking his marriage vows. He never loved Selyse, but he never wanted to betray her. She was his lady wife, their daughter would one day sit on the Iron Throne. If he could win this of course.

Lord Peasbury was one to speak first. The man was one of the last of the Stormlords that still supported him, the others bending the knee to the false boy king many leagues to the south. He was tired, Stannis realized, bags under his eyes as he looked at the map right in front of him.

"Winterfell will fall. But how? According to our outriders, Bolton and his host are a combined force of over five thousand swords. White Harbor is under siege by a Lannister fleet, excuse me, the Royal Fleet, if that rider from the Harbor is to be believed. And where is Stark? He should have finished off the Ironmen and taken Deepwood already. Our host is barely three thousand swords. Three thousand to take a burnt castle with five thousand blood-thirsty men," the Lord said, jabbing his finger at the spot where Winterfell was.

"We take it. We burn it. We do everything we need to do," rasped Arnolf Karstark. His cane was being used to support his frail body, and his grandsons and son besides him. He needed to catch Karstark off guard.

"We march to our dooms. How will we take the castle, just like Peasbury said?" asked Justin Massey. If there was one thing that Justin Massey was, it was that he was too cautious for his own good.

"We will build siege towers," one of the grandsons said. Justin looked at the man with contempt.

"And die," he said simply.

"We will build ladders and storm the walls," said another.

"And die," Massey repeated.

"We will cut down trees and build battering rams," said the last.

"And die and die and die. Are all you Karstarks mad? We will die if we march against Bolton. The Dreadfort is only a few weeks march away. It will take us the same time to reach the Dreadfort then it will to reach Winterfell. If Jon Stark is to believed, then it is well provisioned. We take the Dreadfort, then we take the seat of Bolton. He will be forced to vacate his position at Winterfell in order to take back his seat, otherwise he will look weak within the eyes of his bannermen," Massey offered. Stannis looked at the map. Massey wasn't mad. This plan might work.

"Are you crazy? We need Winterfell. If we take Winterfell, then we will be able to show the rest of the North Stannis is serious about fighting the Boltons. Taking the ancestral castle of the Boltons is all well and all, but we need Winterfell. The Dreadfort has a garrison of two hundred when I was passing by it. Two hundred under Roose Bolton's other bastard son," Arnolf Karstark said. Stannis looked at him with surprise.

Bolton had another son? That was new to the King, and he looked at the gaunt man.

"Bolton has another bastard son?" he asked the gaunt and sinewy man. Karstark looked at him with gleaming eyes.

"Aye Your Grace. His name is Domeric, in honor of his dead son. He's the twin brother of Ramsay Snow, the bastard of Dreadfort. Both of them were legitimized by the false king Tommen," Arnolf said." Domeric is the more dangerous one though. He is the heir to the Dreadfort, since Ramsay Snow is now the Lord of Winterfell...for now. We take Winterfell, we take the symbol of the North. The houses of the North will rise for you!"

Stannis inwardly smiled. He now had a plan. Instead of marching for Winterfell, he would march against the Dreadfort. Arnolf Karstark had just given him the key to defeating Bolton. But now, alast, he would have to take him down now.

"Before I make a decision Karstark, tell me, how do you know how many men are at the Dreadfort?" he asked. Karstark looked him with uncertain eyes. He was going to lie, the king knew, and now he had to make sure he fell into his trap. He hated this political fighting, but as a king, even he had to do so.

"Your Grace, this was just an estimate based on the amount of troops I saw on the walls," he said quietly, and Stannis looked at him with fury in his eyes.

"Do you know what I do to traitors? I do not forgot easy. I do not forgive. I am the rightful King of the Seven Kingdoms and you will give a straight answer. Are you scheming with Lord Bolton?" he asked, steel and iron behind his voice. Stannis was the rightful king of Westeros, all of the Seven Kingdoms would bend before him.

"What have I done? If Robert was you he would marched on Winterfell and swept them away by now," Karstark challenged. Stannis was not about to have it. He started to grind his teeth, the noise starting slowly, before becoming louder.

"Robert could piss in a cup and men would drink it and call it wine. Just like you Karstark. I give them clear water that is the freshest amongst the lands of Westeros, and they would tell me how queer it tastes. The throne is mine, by rights and by law. I was Robert's heir, because he had no trueborn sons. And just like how Domeric Snow will find out, he will either bend the knee or die. Horpe and Suggs, take Karstark, guards, take his grandsons and son," and the two knights seized Karstark by the arms. One of his grandsons ripped out his sword out of his scabbard, only to be cut down by a sergeant with the fiery stag of Stannis to cut him down with a single slash from his own sword. With blood spilling in the tent and in the presence of the king, the guard looked at his sword with disbelief before looking at the king with fear in his eyes.

"Your Grace I did not mean to kill the man," he stuttered and Stannis looked at him with his own unforgiving eyes.

"You did what you had to do Sergeant. Take the body and burn it. Place Karstark and his sons in the stockade and double the guards around him. We burn them at dawn," the King said and the Sergeant bowed before yelling his orders to his men.

"Your Grace, are you sure it is wise to let them burn the men? I am-" but the stuttering Massey was quickly silenced by the King.

"We burn them, we make sure the Karstark men know who to follow. Tell the rest of the men to spread the word about the Karstarks to the Karstark men. We marching to the Dreadfort. We leave after the burning," and the rest of the lords and the knights bowed. The King went out of the tent and looked at the night's sky. The stars were twinkling and the clouds were moving to the north. Beautiful lights were reflecting. The Light of the North it was called. Looking like a path to the Heavens itself.

He needed Davos. The man would have given him honest council. Instead of the spitlittles that just agreed with everything he said, he needed real men that were not afraid to say tough and hard things to the King. He needed honest advice. That was why Davos was the Hand of the King. And as soon as he had ships and men, he would be the Lord of the Rainwood with his actual seat, and the Master of Ships. Once he reclaimed all the lands lost to him, his daughter would be Lady of Dragonstone. The Crown Princess would have her throne.

Shireen. Though she was ugly and scarred by the greyscale that had wrecked havoc on her face, he still loved her. But he was Stannis Baratheon and he could not feel love. He was hated and feared by the Seven Kingdoms. Melissandre was a burden and just more guilt because he could not keep his marriage vows.

Edric Storm. The bastard son of his brother Robert. The flames that Melissandre wanted to feed him to. He would have broke, just to save the Seven Kingdoms from the icy grips of the Others, but he couldn't because of Davos. Several knights and men at arms that were protecting the bastard son on the other side of the Narrow Sea. Maybe he would send the boy a message. Though the boy was a bastard, he was his nephew, and a good lad at that. Shireen seemed to like him, and a ghost of a smile tugged at his mouth before disappearing faster than Robert's memory of a woman's name.

Several men passed him and bowed, while uttering Your Grace, or my liege, or Your Highness. If only Robert had been able to slip one through the net and had a trueborn son.

"Your Grace, three men are riding from the south. They carry the banner of White Harbor," and Stannis went to see. True enough, three men, one with a banner of the mermaid of House Manderly. He had always hated the sigil of House Manderly, but he could never quite put his finger on it.

"Do they have a message?" he asked curtly and the guard looked at him with curious eyes.

"Aye Your Grace, they bring tidings from White Harbor and the south," and King Stannis looked at the three men. All three were dressed in mail and furs, the furs draping over their cold chain linked armor.

"Your Grace, I am Sir Lyonel Snow. I have a message from the Lord of White Harbor," and the knight handed him a piece of parchment with the seal of White Harbor. Breaking it, he looked at the piece of parchment with interesting eyes.

_Your Grace,_

_The Direwolf and the Fiery Stag still fly over White Harbor. A Lannister fleet, or the Royal Fleet, had set sailed from Lannisport two moon's ago. They managed to avoid the Iron Fleet and the Ironmen's fleet as they plague the shores of the Reach. My ships are not ready and your Onion Knight is still on the mission to get Rickon Stark. But I have interesting news from the south. Aegon Targaryen, or at least a man claiming to be him, has landed in the Stormlands. He has taken Griffin's Roost and is marching against the Reach. Ravens from King's Landing brought the news, before the Lannister fleet arrived and set up the blockade. But do not worry Your Grace, we will prevail._

_-Lord Wyman Manderly_

_Lord of White Harbor_

Stannis looked at the parchment again. A Targaryen? He scolded and grinded his teeth. It was now going to be a lot harder to do his duty. He crumpled up the parchment and threw it in the roaring fire. He looked at the three riders and said simply these words.

"Get ready, for we march at dawn."

Domeric Snow would bend the knee or die. For Stannis Baratheon was like iron. He would break before he bended.

**Wow you guys are the best. I tried to keep Stannis within character, but I don't know. I tried to capture his mindset but I don't know. But thanks to you guys, I think this is my most followed and favorited story out there. I am sorry for the delay and the last chapter. Hopefully this clear's up somethings. Please Review, read, and follow!**


	7. A Stark in Deepwood

Lord Stark of Winterfell, the Warden of the North, and Protector of the Old Gods looked at the carnage he had just been apart of. Several dozen Ironmen had died for Asha Greyjoy, but in the end, that did not matter. She was in a stockade, six Free Folk men and two spearwives guarding her. Several other Ironmen were dead and dying, while fifty or so had been taken prisoner. Lady Glover looked at him with grateful eyes, while the longships of the Ironmen were swarming with sailors and soldiers from Bear Island.

"Thank you Lord Stark! You have the eternal gratitude of House Glover. Thank you Lord Stark, thank you!" she wept and bent the knee to Lord Stark. Jon looked at her with uneasy eyes. He didn't like being Lord Stark. It felt to much as if he was Robb, not the bastard son of Eddard Stark.

"My lady, you are welcome. Please get up and get cleaned. The Ironmen will be languishing in your dungeons I presume?" he asked gently and Lady Glover gave a boisterous laugh.

"Of course Lord Stark, I let them feast on my salt and bread, why not let them continue? I'll make sure they are well taken care of. Shall I take Asha Greyjoy as well?" Lady Glover asked with a hint of malice in her voice. Stark thought about it.

She had fought to the last man, killing several wildings before a chance arrow struck her in the head, saved only by her armor. Being knocked out, she had been carried off the battlefield by her men, only to be ambushed by Bear Island men and women who managed to rush them and finish off the rest of the Ironmen. Reavers at the sea did not matter. The four longships, including the _Black Wind,_the ship of Asha Greyjoy, were under the control of the Bear Island, who were having difficulty controlling them.

"No. I'll take her with me. We'll make her bend the knee to Stannis and let him take care of it. Thank you for your hospitality Lady Glover," Jon Stark gave his thanks.

"It is no problem Lord Stark. If there is anything else you need, please do not be afraid to ask. I will have a few men accompany you and your..._Free Folk," _she said it with has much confidence as she could," and be with you to join up with Stannis. I will stay here and treat with your guests."

And with that Lady Glover went back into the woods, no doubt to pray to the Old Gods. The Weirwood trees saw everything, and Stark shivered.

The battle had gone well. Free Folks were masters of raiding and had open the gates without the Ironmen knowing. Slaughtering the few sentries on the walls, they had pursued Asha until they reached the coast, where Asha had been caught and encircled by the Bear Island soldiers. Now his host had grown to over seven hundred swords, mostly light infantry and archers, who were able to survive on small amounts.

"My lord, Lady Mormont is here," a Glover soldier said, the silver fist of Glover sewn onto his jerkin. He saw the Asha Greyjoy and spit at her, the spittle freezing when it hit the soft snow.

"Take me to her," and following the young soldier, he saw the Bear Island ladies. Bear Island had joined Stannis's cause to put him onto the Iron Throne because they did not wish to see a Lannister on it. The bastards born of incest were good people, but they did not belong on the throne. Stannis was to see to that.

Many houses had sworn for Stannis by now. Karstark had sworn themselves to him, while Bear Island, Deepwood Motte, White Harbor, all these noble houses that would not have in the first place if Stannis had demanded it, but Stark was there. He was a Stark of Winterfell, the legitimized bastard of Eddard Stark.

"Lady Mormont," he said respectfully. Lady Alysane Mormont was a woman in her early twenties. She was short and chunky, with big breasts, big thighs, big arms that reminded Stark of a bear, and big callused hands that were even bigger than his.

"Lord Stark. Let me tell how nice it is to see Stark after so long. You are of a dying breed," Mormont said chuckling, and Stark did not share it. Arya Stark was in Winterfell about to married to that bastard, Sansa was missing and presumed dead, and all of his brothers except for Rickon, maybe, were dead. The majority of his family were dead and he could do nothing. Maybe he find vengeance, and he swore that he would dismantle the Twins, brick by brick, to pay for what they did to Robb Stark.

"We are. But I must thank you. If not for you, Asha Greyjoy would have escaped and we would not have been able to capture her. You have my many thanks. If there is anything you desire, ask it, and I will grant it if is within my power," he said, just like a lord. Watching his father had taught him how to do so, and the bastard turned legitimized bastard, was doing great as a Lord.

"I only wish that you have the Ironmen released and let back into the _Black Wind." _And Stark was stunned. She had wanted the Ironmen freed?

"Why do you want the Ironmen freed? Do you not want them to be imprisoned? I am not against it, but they have no honor and are reavers of the sea," Stark said. He was stunned and pleasantly surprised. She was a direct and blunt woman.

"Have the Ironmen freed in order to show the Iron Islands that you hold the power over the north, not them. They are useless, and will just take up food and water. Have them reclaim _Black Wind, _and sail on the morning tide, while we keep Asha imprisoned," Mormont said and Stark looked at her with a cocked head.

"Aye, I'll think about it. Moat Cailin has fallen. A raven from that bastard Bolton has been proclaiming it. It was sent here as well, and now only Torrhen's Square is in the hands of the Ironmen. Under Dagmar Cleftjaw. I'll send some Free Folk down south to take back the Square while me and the rest of us will besiege Winterfell." Stark had confidence. He had some scouts see a host of mountain clansmen divide into two hosts, one of them over two thousand strong and heading to the Kingsroad, while another around twelve hundred strong heading towards the Motte. If his instinct was correct, then his host was about to augmented by these mountain clansmen and they would march and destroy Bolton. His host was about to increase to two thousand swords, while Stannis had about thirty-five hundred swords, and still White Harbor and her lands still had not sent any men to the cause. Five thousand five hundred men marched with the fiery stag of House Baratheon of Dragonstone as their sworn King, and with White Harbor, that would increase to at least an additional three thousand swords.

"Aye Lord Stark. We'll be waiting at the Motte. The longships will be taken back to Bear Island. Tell your Free Folk that they better not raid my lands anymore, otherwise, I'll send them back to you with their heads on pikes," Mormont warned and Stark nodded.

"My lord," and she bowed and left. The sun was starting to dip behind the mountains to the north, and Stark was about to start heading back to the Motte with his guard when several shouting people alerted him to the south.

Three men in black armor were being beaten to the ground, their armor stained with blood. One of them was already dead, another was near death, and the other was pleading with the Bear Island women to stop. Stark shouted them to stop, and he ran towards the them, his wildling guards unsheathing their bronze swords. Stark threw a Bear Island archer out of the way, and saw what was on their chest.

The three headed dragon of House Targaryen. The black armor was finely made, with plate and mail. Stark himself was dressed in a suit of mail with Longclaw slung across his back, but these men were more finely dressed than him.

"Who are they?" he asked the Bear Island men.

"Men that tried to sneak their way into the camp mi'lord. There were five of them, heading towards the stockade with that Ironborn bitch Asha, and they tried to free her. We cut down two of them, archers got these poor buggers in the legs, and we beat them down and made them submit," one of them said meekly but with steel in his voice.

"Go get yourselves something to eat. I'll take it from here," and the archers and foot soldiers of Bear Island happily went on their merry way.

"Who are you?" one of them asked, nursing a split lip. Spitting out blood, it was barely comprehended, but Stark knew what he was saying.

"I am Lord Jon Stark of Winterfell. These are my guards. Now, tell me why in Seven hells are you men in this camp?" he demanded.

"We were sent by Lord Bolton-" and one of the wildlings with a bronzed mailed fist, smashed him across the face.

"Tell the truth to Lord Crow before we smash your head in. Your friend here was already killed, now tell him the damn truth!" he demanded, and Stark looked at him. He did not approve, but he needed answers.

"We were!" the same man said strongly. Jon looked at him, squatting to his eye level.

"Then tell me why you are wearing the sigil of House Targaryen. Tell me the truth and on my honor as a Stark, you will live," Jon Stark offered and the man looked at his other fellow loyalist. The man was near death and nodded.

"Fine. We were sent by Aegon Targaryen to kill Greyjoy. If not for your men here, we would have," the man said. Blood was dribbling down his chin, his split lip adding to it.

"Why do you want Asha Greyjoy dead?" he asked and the man spit out more blood.

"Asha Greyjoy is a bitch. She killed my mother and father, sent my brothers to be thralls in the Iron Islands, and made my sister a mute. This was my measure of revenge against the bitch. Aegon wanted her dead as well. Apparently the two have met if he wanted her to be dead. He just offered us a measure of revenge and some gold," the man said.

"WHo is this Aegon? All the Targaryens are dead besides the Stormborn," Stark said flabbergasted.

"Aegon Targaryen, the Sixth of his name. He is the rightful ruler of the Seven Kingdoms, and you must believe it. He did not die. Tell the north that the dragon is still alive," the man uttered and the other man that was still alive, was dead.

"Are you Lord Jon Stark?" he asked quietly, the man sucking in air as he did so. Stark looked at the man and nodded yes.

"My name is Eric Vandal of Dorne. He also entrusted me with this message from him," and he leaned forward to whisper something within Jon Stark's ear. Jon stood still as the man told him what he was, where he came from, and how he came to be. Jon Stark could not believe it. Would Stannis lie about what his parentage? Or did he simply did not know?

"You are of the dragon Stark. You are the song of ice and fire."

And with that the man slumped down, unconscious due to blood lost. Ordering some men to take him to a healer and others to take care of the bodies, he was thinking. Was he a Stark? Or a bastard born of Dragon and Wolf Blood? Did he really truly deserve the title of Lord Stark? As he was complimenting these things, a horn sounded. Hoofbeats and men marching.

The mountain clans have arrived.

**So two chapters within the spawn of a day. I have to say, you guys are the best. Thank you for you support and I really love the attention this piece is getting. Over 6,000 views, rapidly approaching 7,000. You guys are the best. **


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